Cornish Anthology FINAL EDIT

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Pit Pony
A pit pony to the posh’uns, A Gallowa to me driver
The young’n fed me choppy and called me ‘Spider’
Shackled to the tubs a’lls laden with coals
Hewed deep underground by the human moles
If I’m good, work hard, divvent nip and nap and a dee what I’m telt
I’ll get the odd carrot, an apple gowk, a lump o’ bread and avoid the
belt
Can barely manage to hear my byuts gan clip clop
Nee room or space to break into a trit trot
Until holiday fortnight, which comes round once a year
I’m hauled up in the cage by the winding gear
Nee mair damp, dust and dark, confined to that tight, squash and
squeeze
Galloping Gallowas, lush green field, we feel the warmth of that
summer breeze

Evenwood C of E Primary School

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© Northumbria University

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Bar Scene
An amber glow, an amber beer, no women allowed in here
Blokes, stand shoulder to shoulder, glass to glass
Pints pulled from hand pump, with frothy heads
Washing away the dust and dregs, of the pit each day
Reading the paper, to check the racehorses form
Norman sketches the scene on an old copy all torn
Records pub life, of a time long gone
Our heritage captured in pastel, spot-on
Flat caps and whippets
Darts and doms
Time gentlemen please
Had’away to your homes

Butterknowle Primary School

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Palace Green Library, Durham University

‘Sketchbooks’

Alington House Visually Impaired Group; RT Projects Open Arts Surgery group;
Durham University Students

Cardigan

A threadbare cardigan, with
leather patched elbows

left discarded at the end of the bar

Holding it closed
A nicotine stained button, with

dirt ingrained
Looked like a football, that’s
been hoofed around the yard

No-one came looking for you
So the button came off, and

you lined an old drawer
For the cat to sleep in

Jonah

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On The Way Home

Walking home from the pit
Along the street with no name
To the street corner, where an amber glow

courts my attention
Warmth emanates from every viewpoint
It beckons me in, this pub full of Marras
A slight sojourn, a beer and some crack
Winding down, before heading off home

to wor lass and the kids
Time for some bait, and life

outside that pit…

Karen

Another Shift
Snow above and below
Round shouldered, and bowed

Huddled and cold
Trudging forward, flat cap protecting

Bait in the bag
Brusk walk to an oven
Another shift in the dark
An escape from the threatening light

Michael

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Norman

From miner to artist
Norman Cornish is an inspiration
A true northern hero
A lifelong passion for sketching and painting he leaves us a legacy
His observations capture mining life in a positive way
Of ordinary people just going about their business day by day
A mining community that worked and thrived, lives on in Norman’s
pride
Colours of red and emerald green, a vibrant community is what you
feel
Strong bold lines, shape the miners down the pit
See the strength, skill and focus, that these lines depict
Softer, rounder, gentle lines capture the miners at the pub
Seeing them all relax in their social hub
A meeting of friends, comrades, heads together, tight in their union
Winding down from a hard days graft, sharing stories and having a
laugh
A few simple marks on the page, portrays smiles on their faces
With gentle ease he pulls you right into the scene
And now you witness what he must have seen
Preserved forever, all those moments in time
His study of people, places and of a time gone by…

Joanne

58

Geordie

Through crowds he walks, smart as a carrot, standing tall and proud
All five foot of him, long white stick in hand
Two sons in support, one upsides, one ahead
Navigating his way, on Durham big meet’n day, with thousands
merging, converging, here and now
Celebrating comradeship and community
The sea of bodies, it ebbs and flows
Geordie wouldn't have it any other way of course
Except perhaps, with the gift of sight
To see the explosion of colours on banners held high!
Of Marra’s faces and of life outside
“Dint worry about me young’n, as all’reet, ah’ve got a lifetime of Gaylas
te mind me of what ah cant see! Tell us the lodge, a’ll gi’ye the banner”
So it goes, one after another, band after band, banner after banner
Waxing lyrical, in glorious technicolour, he brings them all to life
Throwing in the odd tale, as tall as those banners held aloft
Through adversity, his sense of humour is never lost

He minds me, he minds me of me Granda Bert, small but with a
heart of gold
As strong as an ox and both made out of the same mould
Like a pit canary, head canted to the side, he draws on sounds and
smells

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Whistles greet’ns to Marra’s as they pass, they all stop and have some
crack
Memb’rin stories o’the past, of times long gone, but never lost

Onto the racecourse he then marches
Haversack on his back, says he's down with the kids
Habits never change though, as out of it he pulls his bait, a tin of
sarnies,
a flask of sweet tea,
“Ha’way man, I've done it since a was fowteen"
Ham’n pease puddin stottie, a saveloy dip, a singin hinny hoyed in
fer’is pud
Then his young’n gans to Mr Whippy, buys a slack handful of 99’s,
drowned in monkeys blood
Geordie laments “I used to have a couple of swift ales, a canna now,
the Doctor sez, besides, a dint want pullin up, drunk in charge
o’me stick”

He carry’s on laughing, as he disappears off through the crowds
Off hyem, full o’ memories, another Gayla added tiv his list
As he follows out Durham Mechanics, ‘Wester’ (Westoe) Lodge Banner
‘The Past we Inherit, The Future We Build’

Tony Gadd

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